first studio sessions

Say It Again

When you invited Harry over for the night, you never imagined it would be like this. You were lonely and you wanted to spend some time with him. A lot of things were supposed to happen, but this was not meant to be one of them.

“I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Wait! Harry, please don’t go.” You were getting weak in the knees and felt tears prickling your eyes.

He looked at you pointedly. “Did you have something you needed to say?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You didn’t know what to do.

“I don’t think I’m asking for much. I can’t keep doing this with you. This constant push and pull. I feel like I’m giving you so much but getting so little in return. I won’t give my all to you if you refuse to tell me how you feel.”

“Harry I-” you began again, but couldn’t form the words.

“You what?”

You stared at him blankly.

“I didn’t think so.” He gathered his belongings and walked out of the door. Out of your life.

You collapsed on the floor in utter despair and began crying. Not the soft tears that slip down your cheeks sometimes when you were overly anxious or frustrated. You were ugly crying. The kind of crying that took over your body and caused snot and drool and all those other nasty facial fluids to make an appearance.

You weren’t sure how long you remained in that position, but when you finally dragged yourself off the floor there was a crick in your neck, soreness in your lower lumbar, and a hole in your heart.

Things between you and Harry were more complicated than you intended them to be. You’re a song writer which was how you met him in the first place. One studio session turned into two. Two turned into four. Then, studio sessions turned into going out for lunch and dinner depending on how long you were working with him. Lunch and dinner turned into hanging out outside of the studio. And, things just went further from there. It was fine, though, when the two of you were just friends, but then all of a sudden you weren’t. Like a page from out of sappy, romance novel feelings ensued. The thing is, you didn’t know how to deal with those feelings. These were new waters that you were not used to treading. You couldn’t identify the words to express the emotions that bubbled to the surface whenever he was near. You didn’t know what you were feeling but you liked it, and that was terrifying.

It was never your intention to be so hot and cold with him, holding him close one second then refusing to stay the night the next.  And, it definitely wasn’t your intention to hurt him. But, you did. Now you had to reap the consequences.

Consequences suck.

Feeling so empty inside sucks. Not knowing when, if, Harry was coming back around sucks. Having to pretend that you’re okay when you’re not sucks. Everything sucks.

Harry knew you weren’t good with feelings. You’d told him that much. He understood how new this whole situation was to you and constantly made sure you were comfortable. Maybe he was just having a moment. Maybe he just needed time to adjust. Maybe he wasn’t done with you. Maybe.

You convinced yourself that this was all just a big misunderstanding. It wasn’t going to end like this. You were sure of it. Harry would be coming back around in no time.


Harry didn’t come back around.

It’d been nearly two weeks of complete radio silence between the two of you, and it hurt. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second was more painful than the last. You would need both thumbs, all eight fingers, all ten toes, and then some to count the times you almost contacted him. But what were you to say? “Hey I still don’t know how I feel, but could you come around again? I’m lonely.” No. That’s what made him leave you in the first place.

You couldn’t get him off of your mind, though. He was in your every passing thought. I wonder if I need more milk. Harry. Aw, what a cute baby. Harry. How does gene regulation coincide with cell differentiation? Harry. I miss Harry. Harry. It was awful.

The last time you thought this hard and often about a guy was your ex boyfriend. You were so completely head over heels for him; it was sad. Thought he hung the moon. And oh. You contemplated the feelings that your harbored for your ex boyfriend, at the time, and compared them to the symptoms that came up whenever you were around Harry. Suddenly, everything made sense. The steady presence he held in your mind. The constant swarm of butterflies. The intense urge to be around him. You loved him. You were in love with him.

Your chest began constricting, and you began to have trouble drawing oxygen into your lungs. You needed a glass of water and a nap. It was a lot to take in. It pained you to realize these things after you swore off guys and dating and really anything to do with relationships. It pained you to realize that Harry changed that view within you. And, it especially pained you to realize that you messed it all up.

Your previous relationship that made you want to cast off the thought of love altogether ended in shambles. Your heart was left in rubbish pile of pieces. You had swept those pieces into a bag, put that bag in a box, and put a lock on the box. Somehow Harry managed to break through your extensive security measures and piece it back together without you noticing. But because you’ve been so oblivious, you’ve ruined it.

You refused to let it end like this. There was only one thing you could do. You had to tell him. You doubted that he would want to hear it after you’ve been moping around in ignorance for over two weeks though. However, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You didn’t want any what ifs, or the inevitable pain that followed. You had to do what you had to do.


You wrote him a song, recorded a rough demo, and now you’re going to play it for him. To say you were nervous was an understatement. You were putting yourself out there in a way you never thought you would again. Albeit, it wasn’t a very conventional way to express yourself, but he is an international pop star. Nothing in his life is conventional anymore. After standing outside the gate for his house for about fifteen minutes, you finally worked up the courage to find the bell. (You knew the passcode, of course, but you weren’t on good terms with him and didn’t want to overstep your boundaries). You gasped lightly and your heart skipped a beat when you heard his voice over the intercom. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” He sounded defeated.

“I have something to tell– er show you.”

He sighed one more time before you heard the gate make a noise then begin to open. You proceeded down the path to his door with your heart palpitating and your entire body trembling with anxious nervousness at seeing him again.

Harry was already waiting for you at the door, as you made your way to the house. You stopped just short of the front porch. “May I come in?”

“I opened the gate for you, didn’t I?” He answered in a snarky tone.

“Right,” you said, nodding your head as you slid past him into the house. You stood in the foyer looking around, waiting for him to lead you into a room where you could talk.

“You’ve been here a million times. I don’t know why you’re acting like you don’t know where the den is.”

Your face curled into a snarl at his sass. “This isn’t going to work, if you’re going to be rude.”

He gave you a pointed look. “You said you have something to show me.”

You rolled your eyes, but continued into the den nonetheless. You sat on the couch and began unloading your things from your backpack to set up the recording. “What is this?” he asked.

“Shhh… Just wait a second.” Once everything was set up, you plugged the speaker into your computer and let the track play. A small grin was plastered onto your face, allowing just a bit of pride to shine through. Harry, on the other hand, kept an unreadable expression on his as the track faded out. You kind of expected more of a reaction out of him, so you were confused, to say the least, that he just stared back at you as you bit your lip nervously. “Well… say something.”

“What was that?”

“That would be a song called I’m Yours that will be on Alessia Cara’s debut album.”

“So you came all this way to play me someone else’s song?”

You looked at him in bewilderment. He was a smart kid; you didn’t think you’d have to spell it out for him. “No, no I wrote it,” you corrected him quickly.

“And, that’s supposed to impress me?”

He was being so cold to you. You’d never seen him act this way towards anyone. To say you were taken aback was an understatement. You shook your head in disbelief. “I–I was– no. You– I– this is what you wanted. You wanted me to tell you how I feel and…”

“That is not what just happened. That was Alessia Cara–”

“Singing my song that I wrote about…” You cleared your throat. “About you.”

“Look at you. You can’t even admit that without stuttering. I honestly don’t know why you came down if this is all you had to show me.”

“Why are you being so mean to me?”

“Because you came in here expecting things to be a fairytale, and it’s not. Don’t forget that I know you,” he said pointing a finger at you. “I know all about how your little song writing escapades go. You sit around with whoever you’re writing, take their ideas, and craft it into some sort of song. But, don’t try to act like one thing you’ve ever written is a reflection of what’s going on inside your head or heart.”

You got caught up in being hurt over what he said for one second before blinding fury rose from you. “You know what? That is how I write songs and do you know why that is?” You stood up and asked not allowing time for a response. “Because I am a firm believer that an artist’s music should be a reflection of how they feel. It should be a compilation of their life and their experiences. And, most of the time it’s like–it’s like I have all these words floating around in my head but none of them are mine. But, that’s not how this went.”

“I wrote this song in my apartment by myself when all I could think about was you and how badly I messed up and how I would do anything to get you back. I pitched this song to her—demo and all—then rushed to get something together to show you!” You paused, chest heaving. “So, don’t you dare try to tell me about myself.”

He stood and tugged at his hair. “God, Y/N. I don’t want you to show me anything. I’m not asking for much. I just want you to tell me how you feel.”

You were so frustrated with his obsession with verbal confirmations. “Oh, my gosh, Harry, don’t you know that actions speak louder than words?”

“Not if you’re blind!”

You paused for a moment pondering over his comeback. “Not if– what?”

He stopped thinking about what he said as well. “I don’t know.”

You shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of his comment. Enough was enough. “Look, I don’t want to argue,” you sighed. “Are you willing to discuss this like proper adults?”

He sat back down weighing the portions in his head before nodding in agreement. “Alright, but let me go first.” He looked at you for approval and continued on when you remained silent. “Look, this is kind of like a big thing for me because I like you, okay? I like you a lot. You know that. I’ve told you that. And, it’s very frustrating with you leading me on like this, especially because I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to and it hasn’t worked. I need someone who’s going to commit to me. I’m in a unique position being in the public eye and it’s going to be hard. If you can’t even admit that you at least feel something for me,” he said inching closer to you and fiddling with your hand, “then this will never work.”

You looked at him incredulously for a few moments, then snatched your hand away from him. “You’re honestly the best and worst thing to ever happen to me and I can’t decide if I wish I never met you or if I want to meet you all over again.” He gazed at you with a confused expression gracing his face. “This isn’t all about you, you know? It’s difficult for me to be like this, to be vulnerable with people. I didn’t have a touchy-feely, mushy-gushy family, okay? And, whenever I’ve been with someone it’s like I’m the only one who ever gets hurt. I’m so tired of it.” You paused to take a breath after your eyes began to get misty. You made it this far; you weren’t about to start crying now. It was oddly quiet in the room, nothing to be heard but the sound or hours and Harry’s breathing. You continued on. “You say that I’m leading you on, but I’m not. You mistake my choice of not saying how I feel as s reflection of me not feeling anything at all, but I assure you it’s precisely the opposite. I’m so reserved about it because it seems like whenever someone says something like that the universe wants to hook you up to a polygraph machine to see if you really mean what you say. That’s generally when things start going wrong. So, pardon me for not wanting to profess my love for you from the rooftops.”

He audibly gasped while his pupils dilated and jaw dropped before his expression softened. He brought his hand to rest at the base of your neck, while his forehead met yours. “Baby, you don’t have to shout it from the rooftops; just whisper it in my ear. It’ll be our little secret and the universe I’ll never have to know.”

Ever so gently he pressed his lips to yours and you melted into him. It truly felt like everything that happened between the two of you led up to this moment. It wasn’t just you and him kissing because it was fun or a flash of exhilaration from sneaking around whilst you were supposed to be working. It was a promise. A promise to end the stupidity and be together. A promise to not hurt each other anymore. A promise that this is going to be the start of something good.

He pulled you onto his lap and you straddled his waist in order to deepen the kiss. But, before it could go too far you pulled back. “I love you.” His face split into an award winning smile, dimples on full display.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.” He fastened your mouth back to his. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmured in between kisses.

“I love you, too.”


I’d like to personally thank @shadybug for buying me a ticket to this angst train when I wrote that unrequited love fic for her last night. Now I can’t get off none of the stations will let me off I live on this train now

Listen to Hurricane, by The Hush Sound while you read.

-Adrien’s back from university for holidays-

Marinette stares at the message for the first twenty minutes of her thirty minute lunch break.

Okay- is all she manages for a response. She knows how the tone will come across, but she knows Nino understands. For the next hour and a half she ignores the phone in her purse, taking more comprehensive notes in lecture than she ever has before.

It’s not until she’s waiting at the bus stop, air’s chill working its way into her fingers, that she pulls her phone back out. A single message from Nino

-He mentioned wanting to see you-

One-hundred messages must get written and rewritten before she settles on the right answer.

I’m going to be spending most of the break at the bakery and with Nath and his family. Feel free to pass along my apologies.

She takes a shaky breath and sends the text. Two years after the fact, she shouldn’t find herself so rattled at his name. What’s done is done.

Nathanael waits for her in the cozy kitchen of the small apartment the share. He abandons his tea and sketchbooks at the table the moment he sees her face. They find their way to each other with ease.

Pressed this close, Marinette can inhale the therapeutic air that is Nath: lemon, linseed oil, black tea made weak with milk. It is safety and warmth and security, as it has always been. It is not sandalwood and musk, not the windswept Summer air at night, and Marinette needs to remember that it is a good thing.

Nath is soft and safe, never reckless, only deliberately impulsive, and she loves him. She loves how he lets her settle into his embrace and get out a few dry sobs before he breaks the air with a whisper.

“What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head against his chest.

“Adrien?” he asks.

With a groan, Marinette looks up at him. His smile is soft.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Nah, Nino told me.”

Despite the clench in her chest, Marinette laughs. Her eyes hold on blue, not green. Sagging back against him, Marinette basks in the warmth of his embrace. His hands move from her back to her shoulders, and he guides her to the living room couch. The pile of blankets on the arm make a fine nest for them both. They curl against one another, shoulders and hips in line. The pressure of the rise and fall of his chest anchors her to the here and now.

“He wants to meet up,” she says.

Nathanael hums at her words.

“It’s okay, you know,” he says, “If you want to see him. You two were partners for so long, it’s understandable. “

If it’s possible to love him more, she does so in this moment. Marinette tucks in closer.

“He doesn’t know that. All I am to him is an ex. Adrien shouldn’t want to see me. I certainly don’t want to see him.”

“But he’s not just an ex to you,” he says gently, “You two should talk it out.”

His next words go unsaid, but Marinette hears them anyway: Even if it means letting you go.

“Don’t wanna,” she mutters. The awkward shifting is worth it once she’s able to bury her face in his shoulder. Her arms circle his waist, and she tucks herself into as much of a ball as she can. Nathanael chuckles.

“Alright, Snugglebug. I guess I can’t complain.”

Nathanael was never a rebound; he was a miracle. Six months after Adrien left her, Marinette found herself in a dim café, knee-to-knee with a boy she’d spoken to a handful of times since the end of lyceé. With words soft enough not to scrape against her still tear-reddened eyes, Nathanael laid her entire life out on the table before him.

“You were Ladybug,” he said. The pages of his sketchbook broached no room for a denial.

With Tikki gone, passed on to a new bearer, there were no more secrets to protect. She nodded.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Nathanael said, “I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk to me ever again. But the last time I saw you, at Alya’s, I realized you didn’t know, and I just couldn’t-”

At the time, she’d thought she was ready. But then Nathanael flipped to a different section of his notebook. Dozens of sketches of the partner who had abandoned her without a word, side-by-side with the boy who had left with the dust of her ruined affection at his heels. Suited in black or sleek in some designer outfit, it was the same person.

“You deserved to know,” Nathanael said. He reached across the table, but did not take her hand. “The moment it clicked, that he’d never told you, that you’d never told each other, and he’d just left… You should have known. I’m sorry, Marinette. I can go…”

She shook her head.

He let her cry into his shoulder for the rest of the night.

And a few weeks later, he let her lead him to her bed.

Sleep decides to hide from her that night, and she spends much of her time in bed tossing and turning. Even Nathanael, solid beside her, does little to calm a heart that can’t stop racing. Alya, too, had texted her about Adrien being in town, though dutifully, and with much more snark and condescension. He was staying with her and Nino, as it was. All the more difficult to avoid seeing him over Winter Break. Marinette knows Alya will understand if her gift is a few days late.

Two a.m. comes and goes, leaving Marinette half-delirious with a hurricane of thoughts and memories and ifs.

She almost doesn’t hear the knock.

At first she figures that she’s driven herself half-mad, that the sleep deprivation was finally getting to her. But then it echoes again, two knocks, short and firm.

Turning to Nathanael, Marinette considers waking him. Sure, he’d have to be up in four hours for his first studio session, but it could be anyone at the door. More than likely, he would be upset if she didn’t wake him. For some reason, the fact that she’d been a superhero, the protector of Paris, doesn’t seem to make him any less concerned for her safety.

The knocking persists.

With a sigh, Marinette sits up and slips on the robe pooled on the bedroom floor. The heater on the nearby wall chugs for dear life, but the cold of winter still licks at her heels as she shuffles through the living room and to the door. She leans up against the door and peeks through the peephole.

The world through the rounded glass is green and gold and Marinette bites back a sharp breath.

She could walk away. She should walk away, should ignore the man on the other side of the door who is still knocking. Because on this side of the door, Marinette has a life that hasn’t been swept out from under her, has a warm bed and someone she loves who waits for her, even in his sleep. To open the door is to take a touch of Cataclysm to the chest.

“Marinette,” he whispers, “Please open the door.”

Hadn’t his hearing always been unnaturally acute? How many times had he caught her, trying to sneak out of bed to patrol the city, only to kiss her back to bed? And how had he never made the connection - how had neither of them ever figured it out?

She takes a slow breath, and then another. Adrien is too polite to kick the door in or anything like that. If she walks away, all she has to do is figure out how to keep away until he has to go back to the States for school. They never have to meet again.

“My Lady, please.”

The door flies open under her hand with such force that it shocks her. Adrien seems startled, green eyes wide as the door clatters against the wall.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to come out,” he says by way of greeting.

Her hand is still on the doorknob - it’s not too late for her to take back her decision, to slam the thing in his face. But no. She’s Marinette. The spots may all be gone, the masks faded to nothing, but she can stand on her own.

“It’s late, Adrien. What do you want?”

How he could be more handsome than he was two years ago is a mystery the universe is going to have to figure out on its own. Decked in a sleek, gray suit, Adrien has no doubt just come from some formal event of his father’s. Her feet shift below her, stance readying for a fight.

“I wanted to see you,” he says, “Nino told me you were busy all break, so I thought-”

“So you thought you’d just pop in to say hello? In the middle of the night?”

His grin is as disarming as ever. Sheepish, Adrien rubs the back of his head and stares down at her with soft, emerald eyes.

“Yeah, sorry. I know it’s late. I just couldn’t wait. I had to see you.”

It’s not fair. Marinette has had a year of peace, a year of happiness, and suddenly the world around her is cascading, topsy-turvy, all in the span of five words. An entire Paris block seems to weigh down her gut; she’d throw it up, were it not for the tightness of her throat.

“That’s not how you felt the last time we spoke,” she says.

Maybe the words are cruel. Maybe Marinette is supposed to be the bigger person, is supposed to prove that she’s healed and moved on. But he was just a cruel back then, when he’d turned his back on her with little more than an apologetic, “I’m sorry, I just can’t. There’s someone else I haven’t been able to get over,” and “Maybe we shouldn’t hang out for a while.”

At least it’s clear that Adrien hasn’t forgotten. His face crumples, something like regret, and his eyes fall to the floor.

“I…” he starts, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, you know? I thought I could get over her - you - Ladybug - and I was happy, I really was, but I was also such an idiot. I was such an idiot, Marinette, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

She lets the words hang. They’re band-aids at this point, trying to cover up the scars of a wound she’d been well on her way to healing. But there’s a delight in watching him squirm. Marinette will allow herself these few petty moments.

“I appreciate the apology,” Marinette says. He frowns at this, face dropping prettily. Like he hadn’t been expecting her to take his words in such flat stride.

“When did you figure it out?” she asks.

“Six, maybe seven months ago. I was in Jerusalem for a conference, and I’d started hearing about a hero in a red mask. Of course, it wasn’t you. But when I found the newest Ladybug, he pointed me in your direction - I don’t think he realized I’d pick up on your identity quite so quickly.”

Adrien scuffs the toe of his dress shoe along the floor outside her door. It looks like he’s readying himself, at any moment, to step inside. He’s going to be disappointed.

“I passed Plagg along,” he continues.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. And Marinette means it - parting with Tikki had been like losing a limb.

“It seemed like they needed a hero more than I did,” he says. She nods. She’d felt the same way.

“But then it was you. All of this time, you were Ladybug.”

“I was.”

Emphasis was. Marinette is far from weak, even now, but she feels more fatigued in the span of one conversation than she ever did fighting akuma for hours on end. She’d like nothing more than to lean against the door frame and let herself rest. Nonetheless, she has an image to maintain.

“You don’t seem surprised,” he says. He sounds surprised.

“I’m not.”

His brows raise, wrinkling his forehead. There’s a difference from before: more fine lines dust his face, age starting to show. Over a year of intimacy and attachment had allowed her to memorize each detail of his expression. Without a doubt, Adrien is tired. Has been tired. She almost feels bad, knowing how swiftly she will have to extinguish the spark of hope that glows behind his eyes.

“When did you find out?”

“Over a year and a half ago,” she says, “As it turns out, you and Chat Noir look pretty similar if one looks long enough.”

His chuckle is warm and familiar and hits her like it’s been injected straight into her bloodstream. Marinette closes her eyes and takes another long breath, steadying herself. Not after all of this, not after this long.

“I suppose that makes me even more the fool for not seeing you clearly,” he says, voice still rich with his laugh.

It’s too much.

“What do you want, Adrien?” she asks again.

Adrien squirms on the spot. Fiddles with his hands. Sways a bit, back and forth. Finally, he meets her eye.

“I want, first and foremost, to apologize. I was awful, an ass, and I treated you with none of the care and consideration or respect that you deserved. Beyond that, I want to see… if you’ll give me another chance?”

He looks so vulnerable as the words come out. Eyes kitten-wide, Adrien stares down at her. The silence is left untended, sprouting and growing in tendrils between them. He takes a step forward, and then another. She lets the distance narrow, but doesn’t expect him to close it so suddenly: his arms encircle her. Awash in sandalwood and the dark heat of summer nights, Marinette freezes.

It takes every scrap of nerve she’s rebuilt these last two years to stay ice in his arms. Like that, she’s eighteen again, up to her neck in the dizzying swirl of fireworks and crescendos and the thousand different sensations of feeling loved by the boy she’d wanted for so long.

Marinette places two hands on his chest and pushes Adrien away.

To his credit, he doesn’t resist. He even takes another step back. Adrien Agreste was clueless, a soft, inconsiderate idiot who never meant her any harm and still managed to tear her to shreds - but he wasn’t actually stupid. Adrien waits.

On the inside she is trapped in a vortex of shrieking winds, debris of years kicked up from unseen corners to batter her relentlessly. On the outside, she goes still, calm, quiet.

“They didn’t tell you,” Marinette says evenly.

His brow furrows. “Tell me what?”

But it’s an ugly kind of funny, this setup. Maybe it was unintentional, but Marinette thinks she has Alya to thank.

“Oh my god, they didn’t tell you.” Her voice rises, starting to swing out of her control, but it’s okay because it is so funny.


“Alya and Nino didn’t tell you. I’m with someone else, Adrien. I’ve been with someone else for over a year.”

It’s jarring, for one to recognize the exact moment that a person crumbles before them. When Adrien falls apart, his face goes smooth and his body rigid.

“And I’m not leaving him for someone who didn’t see me as I was. As I am”

From behind her, a soft sigh prickles her ears. She doesn’t turn to confirm that Nathanael has woken - it seems like she can feel the calm of him even from across the room. How long he’s been awake doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make her words any less true, whether he hears them or not. Adrien’s eyes flick to the dark room behind her, perhaps picking up on the barest shift of the man on the other side.

“I was wrong,” Adrien says, “I loved you, Marinette, I’ve loved you for years, and I still love you now. I was wrong to leave.”

She shakes her head.

“You loved Ladybug, not Marinette. The fact that you know now doesn’t change anything, Adrien. I’m not Ladybug now, just Marinette.”

By now he must hear the soft thump of Nathanael’s feet against the wood floor. Adrien’s eyes take on a desperate edge - he doesn’t stop.

“I am in love with you, Marinette.”

Just because she’d heard it for almost a year when they were together doesn’t make it any easier to hear now. Her lips draw into a tight line.

“Maybe,” Marinette concedes, “What we had, when we had it, was great. Amazing. And so maybe love me now, and maybe you loved me then. But you never figured out how to love me. And when you left, you left me feeling like I would never be enough, as Marinette or Ladybug.” She fights to keep her voice in check, to swallow the waver that threatens to rise. “I know you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but by not considering how you chose to end what we had, you did.”

Adrien won’t meet her eyes, not anymore. Shoulders slumped, he looks years more dejected than he had when he’d bowled her over with his calm, light words.

“Everything alright, Bug?”

Nathanael steps into the stretch of light that spreads from the hallway outside their door. One hand plants itself on her hip. His chest, bare, pressed to her back. Were it not for the situation, she might giggle: Nathanael slept fully clothed through most of the winter. It was only now that he had a point to prove that the shirt disappeared. She stretches her neck up to look at him and smile.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Sorry for waking you.”

He levels a stare at Adrien, who hasn’t figured out how to reattach his jaw to his skull yet. Adrien slouches, drawing himself further in and looking more and more like an alley cat.

“Adrien,” Nath says, voice soft.

“Nathanael. Good to- I didn’t realize- I’m-” Adrien fumbles over his words as his eyes dart between the two of them. It seems like he does the calculations in his head, over and over again, but the mental math never quite adds up. Now Marinette really wants to giggle.

“You should go,” she says instead.

“I’m sorry,” Adrien manages. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” she says.

“And I shouldn’t have come straight here.”


He tugs a hand through his hair, and when it settles, it toes the painful line between Adrien and Chat. Marinette takes Nathanael’s free hand and squeezes it tightly. Adrien ducks his head, breaking eye contact; his shoulders shudder with an emotion Marinette knows all too well.

“Goodnight, Adrien.”

His response is muffled, but she understands. Adrien straightens and turns, schooling his rapidly blotching face the best he can.

“Goodnight, Marinette.”

His steps fall heavy as he retreats down the hall. They watch him walk. Nathanael leans down and settles his chin on her shoulder, drawing her flush with him. It’s like a stream of honey down her spine, filling her with slow sunshine. It catches heavy on her heart, but the sweetness is worth it.

“Adrien,” she calls. He’s almost to the stairwell, but he stops in an instant.

“I’ll… maybe I’ll text Alya in a few days about meeting up. We should… we should probably talk again. Not in the middle of the night.”

Stubble scrapes against her shoulder as Nathanael nods with her words, approving. Adrien straightens a hair.

“I would like that.”

He turns the corner for the stairs and slips out of view.

Marinette sighs into Nathanael, boneless as the tension fizzles from her form.

“You okay?”

Her eyes flutter shut. He keeps her standing.

“Mmm. Maybe. I think. Eventually.”

And perhaps the storm raging in the space below her ribs will never fully die out. But as Nathanael bends to ghost his lips over hers, she knows that she’ll make it out just fine.

DΞΔN  - D (half moon) [3]

My mind is clouded by thoughts of you
My heart is messed up
I shouldn’t be like this just because you’re not here

But I keep rewinding back to that time

I can see the night sky from places you used to be

The half moon in the sky is a reflection of me
Just by looking into your eyes all my emptiness will disappear

I’ll be filled with longing after these boring days pass by
We used to joke around and call each other “one”

But you are you and I am I
I didn’t know it would become this clear
Having time apart to think and the feeling that time ran out
Time will pass by, but we can’t even say “come back”

There was not much of a difference. The air was the same. From the same bed to the same ceiling that you saw. Everything was still the same, but for some reason it felt oddly empty. You spaced out for hours, just day dreaming while you lay on your bed motionless. At first you thought it was only hunger, so you walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, in search for something to eat. You took out the left over food from yesterday and warmed it up in the microwave.

But even with a full stomach, you didn’t feel full. You tried to ignore that feeling and turned on the TV in order to distract yourself. You flipped through the channels, but there wasn’t anything you wanted to watch. There was no point. It was useless.

You missed him and you wanted him to be next to you. You longed to lie in his strong arms while he brushed his finger through your hair. You wanted to feel his gentle kisses and tender touches. 

It wouldn’t feel so empty if he was here with you. You were sure of that. But it wasn’t physically possible. You two were more than miles apart. You were on entirely different continents, separated by the Pacific Ocean. He was in Los Angeles, to work on his music. It was his first studio session in a foreign country. You were his number one fan and you fully supported every decision he made in his musical career. You were the one who encouraged him to take on this challenge. Yet, at the same time, you wished he would pay a little bit more attention to you.

However, you know you weren’t the only one wishing for these boring days to pass by quickly so you could see him again. He missed you just as much as you did. And it was hard for him too, to be apart from you for such a long time.

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I shot this photo two years ago, which was also the first photo shoot I ever did and first in studio modeling session :)

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| Take That leave door open for Jason Orange as they record first tracks as a trio

A source close to the band said the remaining three members would have been happy for their former bandmate to return.

We’re all still devastated about the news we brought you last week, that Jason Orange has quit Take That.

But none are more upset than the Take That boys themselves.

This week, Gary Barlow, Mark Owen and Howard Donald had their first studio session since announcing they were becoming a trio – but the studio door was left open for Jason to return.

At the 11th hour, with no sign of Jason, the boys have come to terms with cementing themselves as a three piece. Blub!

Our source says: “The boys are obviously still incredibly close, and even though the statements went out last week, if Jason had wanted to come back and rejoin his bandmates, he would have been very welcome – and that was made clear to him.

“They have so much history together, and as final touches were being put on the new record, Jason could have been added to the tracks as they’ll be working on them all next week.

“He has been adamant he wanted to break away from the group since the last tour, he just grew tired of all the fame. He started to resent it.

"It’s been such a difficult decision everyone wanted to let him know he could always come back – even a week after quitting. They’re committed to moving forward as a trio but the door will always be open for Jason.”

Last week, Jason said in a statement: “I have spent some of the best years of my life with Take That and I’d like to thank everyone who has been a part of my journey, including my bandmates, who I feel are like brothers to me.”

He added: “There have been no fallings out, only a decision on my part that I no longer wish to do this.”

In a statement the rest of the group said: “Jason’s energy and belief in what this band could achieve made it what it is today, and we’ll be forever grateful for his enthusiasm, dedication and inspiration over the years.”



You Are In Love - Chapter 16

“Tay, you’re going to be late if you don’t get up now.” I heard Adam say, next to me. I was going to my first studio session today. I had signed my contract two weeks ago and now I was ready to start working on the album. It was unreal to think about that. I was going to actually make an album and I would be writing the songs, working with producers and then releasing it. Scott didn’t put a limit on the amount of time I would work on the album. It was my decision and I had decided that I would work on it until I felt like it was done. I’m not sure how long exactly but I needed time. I knew that some of the songs I had written would end up on the record but there was still production involved.

“I’m going, I’m going.” I stood up, pecking his lips. “You know why do we still keep two bedrooms? We sleep together every night so we could turn one of them into something else.” I suggested, opening the drawer to find something to dress.

“Like what?” He questioned from where he sat watching me.

“I don’t know yet, like a music room or an office or I don’t know, save it for the future.” I told him as I took off my shirt.

“What kind of future?” He smiled, standing up and walking towards me. “Do you mean turn the room into a bedroom for someone else?” He murmured, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Maybe. Not now but in a few years, it’d be nice.” I said, my hand on one side of his face. “We are talking about babies right? Because you’re not being exactly precise in what you’re saying.” I giggled, kissing his cheek as he nodded his head. I found myself thinking about a future with him more often, especially since everything in my life was going great. I wanted a future with him.

“It’d be nice.” He smiled, looking into my blue eyes. “I’d love to continue this conversation but if you stay in my arms one more second I won’t let you leave.” He smirked, kissing my lips before I pulled away.

“You’re right. I need to go make some music.” I said, a huge smile spreading across my face. “It sounds weird when I say that. It’s happening and it feels so amazing.” I noted, putting my shoes on before grabbing my phone and walking to the living room with Adam following me. “Are you working today?” I questioned, turning back to look at him.

“Yeah, I am. I only start at eleven though.” He smiled, leaning in to kiss my lips one more time before I left.

Soon enough I was walking into the Big Machine building. I greeted Sierra, smiling at the nice girl before making my way to the elevator. I went up to the third floor like Scott had told me to and walked to room four which I assumed was a studio. I knocked on the door, a nervous feeling kicking in.

“Come in.” I heard so I opened the door and walked into the room. “Taylor Swift?” He asked, a smile on his face.

“That’s me and you are?” I extended my hand and he shook it.

“Max Martin.” He smiled.

“I’ve heard of you. You produce quite a lot of the records I hear on the radio.” I laughed. Holy shit! That’s one of the most amazing producers in the world. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“The honor’s all mine. If you’re anything like Scott said you are then it will be an honor to work with you on this.” He told me. “Let’s get to work then. I’d love to hear ideas and Scott told me you’ve written a lot of songs already so I’d love to hear that.” He suggested and I put my purse on the couch before sitting down on the chair.

I had never had a better experience in my life than seeing a song come together, every beat, every melody, it was pure heaven seeing something i worked on come to life like that. It was amazing how easily I worked to Max. He was an incredible producer.

At the end of the day, we had finished two tracks in total but I knew that as we would continue to work on the album, those two songs could fly out the window. The uncertainty kept everything more exciting than it already was and I was glad for that. I liked the way the songs turned out, it made me proud o my first day in a studio ever.

When I arrived home, the lights were off but there were rose petals on the floor and candles all around the room. I smiled to myself, looking up to find Adam looking at me.

“Hi, A.” I smiled, moving towards him. “What’s all this?” I asked as I took one step closer to him.

“I wanted to do something nice since you had your first day at work and it’s romantic and that makes me an awesome boyfriend.” He said making me laugh. “I bought a nice wine for you and I got us Chinese take out because that’s your favorite and I put every blanket we have in this house in the living room, we’re doing anything you want.” He smiled, kissing my lips and taking my hand and guiding me to where he set all the blankets. We sat down and he poured wine in the glass for me, getting water for him because he never drank and we started eating our food.

“You know this reminds me of that time in high school when your parents were out of town and I snuck out of my house and we hate snacks and watched movies all night long.” I smiled, remembering our high school days.

“Maybe this time, we could do something else all night long.” He smirked raising his eyebrows suggestively. I slapped his shoulder giggling.

“No. You’re an idiot.” I shook my head, kissing his cheek.

“I’m your idiot.” He smiled, picking me up so I was straddling him.

“That was definitely the cheesiest shit you’ve ever said.” I laughed, my hands resting on his chest.

“Don’t blame me, I have the most beautiful girl in the world in my arms.” He said, pressing his lips against mine. “I love you.” He smiled before laying me down so I was on my back and he was between my legs. I peeled him off of his shirt, showing his toned body as I smirked, thinking that I had him all to myself.

“I thought you said no to my suggestion.” He smirked and I rolled my eyes.

“I’m saying yes now. You’re too hot.” I said, running my hands down his abs. “Hot damn.” I giggled, what I said reminding me of the song that had been everywhere lately, uptown funk.

He pressed his lips against mine again, this time harder as his hands roamed my body freely.

Okay two things. I know that no one on their first album would work with an amazing producer such as Max Martin but who cares? It’s a story haha

Also the last sentence! Get it? Get it? 😏😉